Like the Stars
by SeungSeiRan
Summary: A sign of good times ahead? Eight Steve x Asuka oneshots. The last installment of the 'Love Comes Naturally' trilogy.
1. Contrast

It's about time that Asuka-chan got paired up with someone other than Hwoarang. I mean, no offense but the whole Hwoa/Asuka thing is becoming like Xiaoyin. Stale.

Asuka: Yeah, you said it Ran-san!

Steve: (Sighs) Well since Christie got taken I guess she'll have to do.

Asuka & Ran: WTF?!

Steve: Uh, nothing!

* * *

**1. Contrast**

It was not that she didn't _like_ being different. She did enjoy her uniqueness.

Too bad everyone else couldn't.

_So what's their problem?_

Was it because she was one of the few who actually hated pink and pig-tails? Could it have been because she wasn't blonde and frilly? Or was it the fact that she could pwn just as well as any guy in the Iron Fist tournament?

Well, whatever. She shouldn't have been worrying about it because it wasn't _her_ problem.

But then again… ugh.

So she was a tom-boy. _Big deal._ She didn't need a pair of sky-high heels to kick ass. And that was okay, wasn't it?

_Wasn't it?_

To her annoyance, she felt moisture pricking at the corners of her eyes. She furiously wiped them away. Asuka Kazama never cried in public.

'Public' in this case was a small bar cum restaurant cum night-club situated in a neat corner of Tokyo. Not exactly a place where one was supposed to get wasted on neon-coloured cocktails. That suited her just fine. Her father would be proud of her for sticking to her disciplined upbringing. The thought itself was enough to lighten her face with a smile.

_Dear Tou-san._

She'd always been closer to him than her mother. She'd never had to worry if she had disgraced him with her high-spirited nature and impulsive mistakes. Her mother would frown upon them in dismay and probably implore the gods in private as to why she couldn't have been blessed with a more traditional, 'respectable' daughter. Even at seventeen, Asuka was still her father's little girl. His little fire-fly. 'Chibi Hotaru' was what he laughingly referred to her as. Little fire-fly.

She sighed as she let her chin sink down to the wooden table-top. Tou-san was currently in hospital. Hopefully, he'd be discharged by tomorrow. She'd have to call home and check on him. She put her lips to the nearby straw to take another sip of her soda…

Empty.

A look of surprise crossed her face. Already finished? She must have been too lost in her thoughts to notice or even _taste_ it. She didn't have enough money for a refill either. Damn.

The night hadn't even started and she was already in a bad mood. The music didn't suit her at the moment and the other customers were all too cheery or ditzy for her liking.

The sting of loneliness snuck up on her like a stray grasp. It momentarily startled her before sinking in as she watched the other girls on the dance-floor.

The bird in the cage was growing restless.

She didn't need to be here. She didn't _have_ to be here. She should have been training for tomorrow's match against Lili Rochefort. The Monacan girl had made fun of her dress-sense a few days back and Asuka had always wanted to… pay her back. The Japanese girl stood up to leave.

"Leavin' already?"

The voice was accented and not of anyone she knew. It belonged to a familiar-looking blond guy. Nevertheless, familiar or not, her guard was on.

"What's it to you?"

She hated it when men smirked like that. He glanced sideways at the crowded dance-floor.

"Thought you might have wanted to join them."

"As if."

_Go away, just go away._

She didn't like the way he stared. A light of amusement shone in his blue eyes.

"Ah, yes. You're that Asuka Kazama girl, right? The one who wiped out Ling Xiaoyu?"

"Yeah. And you're Steve Fox, the guy who got wiped out by Kazuya Mishima, right?"

She'd expected that remark to shut him up. However, she was taken by surprise when he unashamedly let out a chuckle.

"Yep, the one and only. So, you have a fight scheduled tomorrow or something?"

"Yes." she replied tersely.

"Fine," he intoned as he picked up his jacket which had been draped on a chair. "Let's go."

"Let's?"

"I'm walking you back."

That _really _took her by surprise.

"N-no, it's okay – "

"S'alright." he drawled. "I insist."

* * *

It was a starry night which Asuka should have enjoyed. Except that she was too busy keeping an eye on Steve Fox to do so.

You never knew with these foreigners. _Gaijins _as they were called in Japan. She recalled what a friend had told her about them.

"_Honestly, they think that all Asian women are geisha."_

Hmph, well if he so much as made a move on her …

"What're you looking at?"

Shit, he'd caught her staring.

"Nothing."

What was she being so friggin' paranoid about? Steve probably liked girls with longer hair and tighter outfits. Like Lili, or Christie Monteiro. Men only wanted one thing from a girl anyway. And he could have had any girl he damn liked. He was a _bit_ good-looking. In a blond British way, she had to admit.

So why had he chosen to walk _her_ home? Unless he was, possibly, up to some…

"I'm just being nice, okay?"

"Huh?"

He shot her a look of mock disbelief before continuing, "I don't know what you've heard about me but I'm not one of those blokes who enjoys copping a feel on every woman in the vicinity."

_What did he just say?_

"I'm not a pervert."

_What? He's psychic now?!_

"I never said you were." she managed to reply.

"Then why are you keeping at least five feet of distance between us?"

Oh no, he'd noticed.

"I…I…I.."

_Come on, Asuka! Think!_

"… didn't want…"

She could already feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

"Didn't want anyone to think we were a couple? I wouldn't have minded, really."

He began to laugh outright as her expression transformed from fright to fury.

It further enraged her when none of her 'sudden' strikes managed to hit their target. Damn, he could dodge…

An attempted quick left jab resulted in her arm caught in his grip.

"Let me – "

"Look up."

_Was this some kind of trick?_

"I said, 'Look up'." he repeated as he tilted her chin upwards to emphasize his point.

He was right. The stars looked beautiful. White diamonds on blue velvet. She would have liked to watch them for a little while longer.

If he hadn't jerked her chin to the right so abruptly. She began to protest before he silenced her with a finger on her lips.

"That star, up there."

It was so small. It would have been lost in the sea of glowing orbs if hadn't been… blue? Blue. An electric blue. She'd never seen anything like it before.

"That's quite an unusual contrast."

"Yeah, I guess."

"But it's beautiful all the same." he whispered.

It was.

In an odd sort of way, she felt slightly better about herself.

Had he known that?

She thought he looked better when he smiled instead of smirked. Cute,… wait a second!

Her face as red as a Valentine's heart, she immediately backpedalled and ran off the rest of the way.

Steve couldn't help but give her retreating form an affectionate grin.

"You're welcome, Asuka."


	2. Illusion

**Author's note:** I won't be updating for a while. You see, I'll be on vacation for a few weeks. But I'll make up for it as soon as I get back! So, enjoy this one for now.

**2. Illusion**

There's something about twilight. It makes you _see _things.

It didn't help that he felt a tad under the weather either.

At times like these, the sky and water merge into one blurry haze. Perhaps if he were to get up and take a few steps forward, he'd end falling into an inky-blue watery mess of things…

Bloody hell, he didn't even know what he was thinking any more. It would be better to just go with the flow. Wherever the flow went, that is.

His head spun so he closed his eyes.

Blackness. But only for a moment.

A thousand points of light. Red, white, and blue. It reminded him of the Union Jack. How disconcerting…

_Red._

_White._

_Blue._

Blood was red. He'd seen it plenty of times. In the biology lab at Oxford, on a dead cat's matted fur on the street, splattered on his face and chest after a rough fight. Many different places. The many sides of Steve Fox. Glorified fighter, closet intellectual, secret philosopher. Each side had its own ever-increasing demands. Physical, mental, spiritual. It was only natural that one like him would be at his wit's end trying to figure out which was which.

And he still hadn't found who he was searching for.

White walls. Cracked and discoloured with age. The walls which he had fought against. Walls which were meant to be broken. Was white a real colou? Or just a lack of it? There was no such thing as pure white any more. Nothing could ever remain so innocent and untainted for too long. White like the fresh, crisp sheets in a decent hotel. White roses. White like the top she wore during matches. He couldn't quite recall the Japanese word for it…

To his despair, he couldn't recall her name.

What a pity. He could do with a bit of comforting right now. Not he'd never admit that out loud. He hated whiny, self-loathing pricks. He certainly didn't want to come off as one. A silly matter of pride.

His infamous pride. The pride which had landed him in trouble many a time. He'd even had to put his life on the line because of it. People had admired as well as mocked him for it.

She'd done neither.

Maybe that had been because pride turned out to be the only thing they had in common.

Their blessing. Their curse.

To be fair, she _was_ only four years younger than him.

Then again, she couldn't be considered legal at seventeen. Well, maybe in England she would have but … never mind. They were from two opposite ends of the spectrum and had little else to share. She came from a proper, respectable family. He didn't even have a dog to call his own. Fire evaporated water, water extinguished fire. Neither could thrive on one another.

The sudden gust of wind made his teeth chatter. Normally, he didn't mind the cold. It had a productive effect on him, being British and all. However, he did wish that he had had the presence of mind to wear a sweater. Or bring a blanket. Idiot, who walks around parks with blankets wrapped around their shoulders anyway?

He placed his hand on his forehead and felt the beginning of a fever.

He wondered what the fans would think if they could see him now. Listless, weak, cold, and absolutely pathetic.

They should have to understand that every hero has to bleed once in a while.

"Steve?"

Spots of fluorescent light greeted him on opening his eyes. He felt a smooth hand sweep back the blond strands of hair away from his face.

"You okay?"

Asuka. That was her name. The wave of relief was too much to contain. She seemed slightly amused at his goofy expression.

"You're a weird guy. Smiling when you're obviously freezing to death out here."

Ah, the poor kid. Too practical for her age.

Or was it him who was the immature one? How ironic when it was _he _who was supposed to be the adult…

"What _are _you doing out here anyway?"

"I had a sudden urge to roll about in a pile of leaves." he answered with his trademark wit.

The Asian girl rolled her eyes in disbelief and muttered something under her breath in her native tongue.

"Are you Europeans really this nutty?"

"Do you Japanese always ask this many questions?"

He was beginning to regret opening his eyes.

Too much blue depressed him. It was such a miserable colour…

"You may be an idiot but you're one _sick_ idiot." Asuka began to make preparations to hoist him up. "Gotta get you some help – "

"No."

"No?"

She was close enough for him to see the dismay in her eyes. He looked away. It pained him.

She made another attempt to sway his decision.

"Steve, it's getting cold so you might catch something. Like pneumonia or – "

"What's it to you?"

A harsh whip of a sentence. It stung her into silence.

The croaking of the frogs jarred his senses. The breeze whispered into his ear. Of sights he would never see, emotions he would never feel, a love he could never hope for. The trees bowed and nodded their heads in agreement. Once again, it was him against the world. Who was he anyway? Nothing but nobody. Another faceless, nameless imitation of a man. The plants had the soil, the stars had the sky, lovers had each other. Everything and everyone belonged somewhere. To someone.

He was the only exception.

Steve covered his eyes with his fore-arm. The last thing he needed was for Asuka to see him cry.

"Shikata ga nai."

This had come from the girl sitting next to him. Her legs stretched out in front of her, her hands on her knees. The silhouette of her face outlined by a glow only he could see.

"It means, 'it can't be helped'."

Was this what being delusional was about? To see the things you _wanted_ to see? If this was true, then what he was seeing now should be the product of his own imagination. The very thing he _needed _to hear.

_It can't be helped._

Of course, it couldn't. But he wouldn't believe it until he heard it from her. She leaned over to stroke his face. She smiled like only she could.

"It can't be helped. So, it's not your fault."

Her palms were as pale as ivory. And as cool as relief.

"Please don't be sad, Steve. Don't blame yourself."

Illusions, sweet illusions. Beautiful lies which he deserved. All because his weary heart craved for it…

"Stay with me,…"

Whether she was real or not, he needed her now. He reached out to caress her hand.

He may pass out at any second.

And when he did, her light was the last thing he wanted to lay his eyes on before diving into darkness.


	3. Consolation

Yup, she's back.

Hwoarang: And just when you thought it was safe to come out –

Me: Boo.

Hwoarang: AAARRRGH! (faints)

Me: Wake up! You're in this fic too!

* * *

**3. Consolation**

Don't they look kinda odd together?

Hey, Fox! Hello? I was talking to you!

Don't you 'huh,what?' me again!

I mean, just _look_ at them! Who would have thought…

Hwoarang's like this bad-ass punk with a major chip on his shoulder and Julia's the typical studious girl-next-door.

No, I'm _not _jealous.

I'm just… surprised.

Don't raise your eye-brow like you know better. Because you don't, Steve.

I've fought guys bigger than you two. So far, _he_ was the only one who came close to beating me into a bloody pulp.

Okay, okay, I lost to Hwoarang. See? I'm admitting it. Happy?

Stop laughing, will you? As if _you've_ never lost before.

Not to Hwoarang? Hmph, good for you.

It's just so frustrating when you try so hard and yet you still don't get what you want. I put every bit of me, every square inch, into what I do and somehow _nothing_ seems to come out right. Does it hurt? Of course, it hurts! It fucking hurts!

Oh man, sorry. I shouldn't have yelled…

It's just that I carry all this pent-up… emotions inside of me. And when it builds up, it's like a volcano erupting or a dam bursting.

Yeah, like a caged animal in a zoo. That's a good one.

And you know what's worse? Where I come from, girls are always expected to talk politely, look pretty, giggle at stupid jokes, even when it's their best friend's funeral or if they've just flunked their university entrance exams. Um, slight exaggeration there but you do get what I mean right?

I guess I don't have _that_ bad. My dad loves me for who I am. That much is true. My mother…

Well, I'm sure she loves me. Just as a mother loves her daughter.

But does she love _me_?

No, it's alright. I'm okay talking about it. It helps a lot.

Maybe my mother and I would get on a lot better if I had been more of what she liked. The good, obedient girl who wears pretty pink dresses, bakes cookies for fun, and aces all her school tests. She wanted a delicate, feminine companion. She got a tom-boy who hates dresses (especially when they're pink), can't even fry an egg, and manages to get above-average grades. Sometimes I wonder if I should write her a note or something. You know, to apologize for not living up to her expectations. For not being the daughter she always wanted.

I know it sounds cruel but I usually never give a damn as to what my mother thinks of me. But when she's disappointed, so's my father.

It hurts to know that your own father's disappointed in you.

I can only try. Try and please them both. To be the daughter they want.

Yet, sometimes I wonder…

Is everything you _want_ everything you _need_?

Is it?

Steve?

Are you listening?

Thanks. It's nice to know that someone is.

* * *

Steve?

Could I ask you something?

Do you think she's pretty?

I'm talking about Julia.

Do you think she's beautiful?

I thought so.

She's smart too. As well a totally awesome person. Even I can admit that.

Is that why Hwoarang likes her better? Why does she feel for him too?

Maybe it's because they've known each other longer. Maybe it's because she understands a lot more about life than I do. Maybe it's because they actually _get_ each other…

Maybe I am jealous after all.

You can't help hurting when someone else comes first. I try and I try and I try. And again, I fail. It hurts to lose. More so when you can't even bring yourself to hate the winner.

The winner takes it all, the loser stands small.

I feel small.

And you know what?

I think you do too, Steve.

Because you liked her. I can see it in your eyes.

Surprised I said that? I'm no psychiatrist but I'm not that dense either.

But he's your best friend.

It seems like life decided to play a cruel joke on both of us. We're winners in our own right but when it comes down to this one thing …

No, I'm not crying. It's just dust in my eye.

On second thought, I _could_ use that tissue.

You probably think I'm stupid, right? I wouldn't be surprised if you did. I mean, I feel like I'm turning into Xiaoyu now. You know, chasing after someone who's _so_ obviously not into you? Hehe. Next thing you know, I'll have a panda following me around and doing my hair up in pig-tails, haha! If only my mother could see me now. She'd probably insist that I stay this way.

Still, losing isn't fun.

You know what, Steve?

I don't think you should feel so bad. If it helps,… I think you're cool. You're a boxing champ, you went to Oxford, and…

No, I _don't_ find you hot! My cheeks are red because … arrgh, never mind. You'd better wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for you.

I'm not a baby or a kitten you'd like to pet. So, stop ruffling my hair and telling me I look cute when I'm mad!

I don't know why I hang out with you at all. You annoy me with your silly 'quirks' and you treat me like I'm this princess or something.

What's so annoying about that? I'll tell you! I can take care of myself damn well without _anyone's_ help and that includes you too! Yeesh, you men. You give them one compliment and then they want the whole world on a silver platter.

So why do I put up with you in the first place?

Okay, you can be funny at times. You're a pretty good sparring partner, you don't entirely gross me out, you do know when to stop being a first-class jerk, and…

And…

And…

Mmphf..

You kiss pretty well. And now you're suddenly Prince Charming.

Um, Steve? Do I look pretty when I blush?


	4. Tactics

This one's based on my own experience. 'Nuff said.

* * *

**4. Tactics**

"There!"

"Gotcha!"

"Wha – "

"…Hah!"

"NO!"

Asuka watched in dismay as her on-screen character was flung off the edge of the Lotus Garden arena. A piercing shriek was emitted before the spear-wielding female warrior disappeared with a splash. The in-game announcer soon reached its verdict.

"Ring-out."

Steve watched in amusement as she threw down the controller in frustration. It didn't help matters when it was him, her 'worthy opponent', who was the cause of her rage. The Japanese girl glared at him from her seat on the floor.

"Just so you know, I could have beaten you." she offered as an excuse.

"That still doesn't change the fact that I won. Again." he replied with a cheeky grin.

"It was just a ring-out! You got lucky."

"So, this would make it about the …" Steve made a show of counting with his fingers. "… eighth time that I got lucky?"

If looks could kill, then the Brit would have already amounted to nothing except possibly complete annihilation. However, since Asuka was deprived of such an inhuman ability she decided to implement a new, more subtle tactic.

Time to turn on the sarcasm and let the one-liners flow.

"So, is there anything you're_ not_ good at?"

"Putting up with sore losers."

Hm, she had to hand it to him. Wit was a turn-on.

"Touché. And I suppose that's on a daily basis?"

"Naturally."

"Am I a sore loser?"

He stretched out languidly on the couch. She allowed herself a flicker of an admiring glance at the momentarily exposed toned abdomen while he prepared his answer.

"Compared to Hwoarang? Not really. At least you don't have to cry about it."

"Hwoarang cried?"

"After he was done banging his head on the floor and realizing he'd thrown his Guitar Hero CD out the window, of course. The poor fool…"

Asuka leaned forward and twirled a strand of blond hair around her finger nonchalantly. "You went to Oxford, right?"

"Not incorrect."

"Would you consider yourself intellectual?"

Steve absolutely adored the choppy manner with which she pronounced the last word. In-tel-_lec_-tual?

"A perfect academic record speaks for itself, love."

"Did I forget to mention? I got a 96 on my trigonometry exam."

"96? Only? I'd never settle on anything less than a hundred."

A flash of annoyance lit up her dark eyes. But she wouldn't let him have the satisfaction of watching her snarl and gnash her teeth. Oh no, he wouldn't…

"Less than a hundred? You poor dork, spending all that free time cooped up in your little dorm studying – "

"_Au contraire_, my little kitty," he lifted her chin and shook her head slightly, "A good memory serves me well."

She retorted with a light smack to his cheek. "So, Foxy, anything which particularly _displeases_ you?"

Seemingly pleased with his new nickname, the Brit replied "Mafia wannabes, cheaters, cheeky little school-girls, dogs – "

"_Dogs?"_

"Dogs."

The school-girl in question couldn't help but raise a brow. "You do realize that your last name is 'Fox'?"

"Why, I'd completely forgotten! Thanks for reminding me." he replied cheerfully.

"Did you also forget that foxes are members of the dog family?"

"And do you know what they use to hunt foxes in England?"

Asuka slowly began to nod her head as the revelation dawned on her. "Dogs."

"None other, Kitty."

"Why are you calling me 'Kitty'?"

"Well, since your name means otherwise, would you rather prefer 'Birdie'?"

"No."

"Or 'Tweety'?"

"NO!"

"See? Didn't think so."

"I still don't like 'Kitty'."

"Really? How odd," Steve stroked his chin in mock dismay, "Considering your country's obsession with cat-girls and the like."

"So you expect me to parade around in a leotard, cat ears, and a tail?"

"Of course not. Why wear a leotard when lingerie would do nicely?"

Asuka gritted her teeth as she clenched her fist. "I want to hit you now."

Steve bent down so that he could taunt her at face-level. "But you'd miss."

"True." she unclenched her fist. "So let's settle this in another way."

Having said this, she positioned herself on the floor once again from across the coffee-table. With her elbow resting on the wood, she beckoned him to take the place opposite her.

"Let's arm-wrestle."

There was nothing mocking or teasing in the disbelief written on his face now. "Arm-wrestle _you_? With that puny thing? I might break it."

She didn't like that he called her arm 'puny'.

"Just do it!"

He sighed.

"Fine, fine…"

* * *

_Damn, he's strong!_

Once again, Asuka had made the critical mistake of underestimating her opponent. The first round had only lasted a mere few seconds, in his favour. After much ranting and raging on her part, he'd finally agreed to a rematch. Ready as she was, it still took much of her strength to even force her arm to stay above the table. The bored expression on Steve's face held a prediction of yet another challenge easily overcome by him.

But she couldn't let him have this one. This time, she'd have him right where she'd always wanted him…

All it took was timing. She needed the perfect opening.

"You know, it's no use trying," he spoke up, "Unless you really fancy your arm in a cast or something…"

_Now!_

When she looked back upon it, the memory appeared in flashes.

Leaning across the table.

The sudden shift of a blond eye-brow.

Puzzled azure eyes.

Her lips capturing his.

And then things sped up. She suddenly found her body propelling itself of its own accord across the low table. The sudden heat of contact. Her own gasping coming off as a cry in her ears.

So here he was. Right where she wanted him.

Trapped and at her mercy. This time, it was her turn to lift his chin and laugh at his expression.

"I win."

He couldn't help but laugh at his predicament. "I guess you did. But – "

The blond raised an index finger.

" – you forgot that I absolutely _detest_ naughty little school-girls who cheat."

She let a mischievous grin play on her face as she silenced him with her own finger. "And how do you expect to punish me, Fox?"

"Tomorrow."

He began to shift in position.

"Two o'clock."

Before she knew it, she was on his lap instead of straddling him.

"Lunch. On me."

"Are you asking me out?"

Steve was in the process of answering when he suddenly turned pale and gulped. Asuka followed his stare behind her. The sight made her leap off her seat as quick as kid's jack-in-the-box.

"Eh-heh, hi Jin."

A horribly awkward silence ensued as her cousin shifted his penetrating gaze from one guilty culprit to the other. The least Steve felt he could do was lighten up the situation before it got ugly.

"Uh, look on the bright side. At least I'm not Hwoarang."


	5. Hero

Bloody writer's block.

* * *

**5. Hero**

It was a sight she had got accustomed to seeing on a regular basis. A tiny young swallow soaring above her, skimming the puffy expanse of clouds and through the sea of blue sky.

Sea of blue sky. What an oxymoron.

They made it look so easy with the flick of their wings and the sweet thrill of their songs. She'd sigh and wish she could join them too. Because she'd been wishing ever since she was a little girl. It all began a long time ago with that precious spark of innocence. She remembered the flames of passion that had fueled her heart and spirit. Not much time had elapsed since then. How old had she been? Twelve? Thirteen?

There were two types of people in her world. The first were those who actually looked up to her and praised her rebellious vigilante attitude. After all, she _was_ doing them a favor by nipping trouble in the bud before it blossomed into outright chaos. And on the other hand were the second group who viewed her as an annoying, nosy kid who was better off keeping her nose out of other people's businesses. Well,… perhaps that was true to a certain extent.

But many rains had come and gone.

Now she couldn't help but wonder.

_What am I fighting for?_

The flames had been extinguished and the passion had died. It couldn't have happened at a worse time as well.

The world is a large, cruel place. Asuka had heard all the stories about wars, famines, genocides and all the other atrocities committed by the human race. In short, people were a greedy, calculating bunch of cynics who were not to be trusted. Of course, there were _some_ genuinely good people in the world but they were a species few and far in between. In short, the game plan to combat life was to have faith in no one save for yourself. If you stood alone, you'd be alright.

The truth was ever present in her mind.

She was scared.

Asuka Kazama was afraid.

Of many things really. The trick was to conceal them without anyone noticing. And _that _was a performance in which she was undeniably a master.

There were many things she feared.

Pain for instance. Being the only child of a highly respected dojo-master came with its own share of burdens and she didn't want to include heart-ache among them. True, she'd had the occasional crush but nothing serious. Her reputation had helped that.

However, the fear of pain usually results in the fear of something more disconcerting.

The fear of loneliness.

She knew she'd end up like that one day. Sooner or later, she'd be tipped out from her nest and forced to flutter in a cold new world.

And wasn't 'alone' such a … 'lonely' word?

The one thing that paralyzed her senses and forced her to ponder awake in her bed.

She'd built an all too high wall around her heart to protect her fragile soul and it had ended up backfiring.

But she'd rather cower alone in shame than expose herself to them. She'd let them assume that she would always be the cheerful, perky whom they all adored and despised at the same time.

And yet, there were days when she'd love nothing better than to kick off that 'tough girl' façade and just be vulnerable for a bit.

_Just a bit._

But she sighs as the prospect is, in the end, too much to ask for.

It's hard when you're seventeen and have no one to relate to. No one to confess your sins and tragedies to. No one to trust with your life and love.

No hero to hold on to.

Sometimes she wondered.

If she had just opened up a bit more. Been as naïve and innocent as other girls her age…

Perhaps her life wouldn't have ended up as a complicated mess if _she_ hadn't been so herself.

But just _who_ could have listened to the so-called 'petty troubles and insecurities' of a teenage girl?

Maybe… maybe _he_ could have.

But _why _would he? Why?

But, but, but … there she went again, complicating things before they could get complicated.

So she just settled for watching him silently. A bird watching the outside world in silence as it has grown too melancholy to sing. The world had tainted her. Poisoned so that she'd never sing like she used to.

Asuka would never admit it.

The fact that she wished she could be like him.

She wished she could be as brave as he could be as he swung his troubles over his shoulder like a bag. She wished she could be as strong as him when he took on more pain than he could bear. She wished that she could smile at her insecurities and scare them into submission like he seemed to do with his.

She wished she'd had the courage to tell him.

It should have been so easy. All she needed were words.

He's a fighter in the truest sense. Fair and honorable to the core. It was no wonder that he was admired by thousands. Too bad for her almost half of those admirers are women more attractive and fun than she could ever could be.

"_It's okay, Asuka. You know I'll always make time for you."_

Could she believe him? It felt so good that it absolutely hurt. In response, she'd recoiled further into her shell, afraid of the light.

And what is light but revealed truth?

To hell with it, she was just a girl. He was a man. And if he'd been any other man, she would have had suspicions regarding his intentions.

But he was Steve Fox. And to be fair, he _was_ only four years older. So perhaps he only viewed her as the little sister he never had…

She scolded herself silently. All she'd had to do was speak up, stop pretending she didn't need anyone, and _tell_ him.

_You little coward._

Those three words ingrained themselves into the conflicting emotions which ebbed and flowed in her heart. Emotions which were new and raw. Her worst fear was soon realized as she felt the ache of bottled thoughts building up within her. The gnawing and nagging at her conscious, making her shiver and tremble like she'd never done before. Yet, this time, she welcomed the pain.

Because first love is the most painful.

And the pain made her feel alive.

It was the pain that had kept her awake at night. Made her arise with the dawn and pull that innocuous piece of paper towards her. Possessed her to pour out her soul, her red blood transforming into the black ink on the white background. Her fingers ached and her pulse was ragged when she'd finished which made her believe she was ready.

She'd folded the note in two and written his name on the outside so that there was no mistaking it. It was eventually placed on the bench where he kept his bag whilst he worked up a sweat.

If he felt the same way, he'd meet her here, right under this tree. If he didn't…

He'd still have a special place in her heart. The first one to ever make her feel and believe. He'd given her hope and a reason to believe in herself. When it had grown dark, she'd seen the stars. So what if he was flawed? No one was born perfect.

No matter what, even if he'd never come to know, she'd always be his number one fan. Just like he'd always be her best friend. Her mentor. Her shoulder to cry on.

Her hero.

Because that's who he was through it all.

And nothing, not even the pain of rejection could ever overshadow that.

She looked up as she heard footsteps.

"So? What took you so long?"


	6. Apologies

Let's just say that Steve has some explaining to do ;).

**6. Apologies**

Dear Asuka,

Before you probably shred this letter to pieces and throw them into the bin, _please_ give me one chance to tell my side of the story. Because that's why I'm writing this in the first place. Of course, an e-mail would have sufficed but you would have deleted that without even opening it, wouldn't you? Tsk, tsk, such a temper.

Uh, ignore that bit. Just calm down, relax, and sit yourself down before you jump to conclusions. Let me guess, this is usually the part where you start glaring at me and start telling_ me_ that_ I_ have no right to tell _you _what to do. Well, I'll just have to repeat myself, won't I?

_Sit. Down._

There, that wasn't so bad now was it? You're no better than a stubborn little puppy at times. A cute one but a stubborn one nonetheless.

Okay, where was I? Ah yes, the story.

It was a stereotypical Sunday morning. Sun shining, birds singing, children playing on the street. And so I woke up, thought to myself _'What a great day for a nice walk.'_ and set off to do just that. The rest of the day should have gone well but fate has this nasty way of biting you in the arse when you least expect it. Oh God, I'm beginning to sound like that cousin of yours. (Why does he have to be so bloody _miserable_ anyway? Did his pet hamster die or something? Kidding, kidding.)

Back to the story. I was walking down the street, whistling God knows what by God knows whom (no, it's not a song in case you were wondering), when whom should I run into? None other than my good friend, Hwoarang. You know, red-haired loud-mouth who hates Jin? The one and only. So, it became both of us walking down the street.

Do I detect a hint of boredom? Fine, I'll go into a lot more detail. We saw this amazingly ugly Alsatian sitting outside on a door-step. Disgusting specimen of its kind, tongue lolling out like a piece of pink measuring tape, chain wrapped around its neck. You could almost _smell_ its breath from at least a hundred yards away. Why does everyone have to assume that since I'm a 'Fox' I automatically have to like dogs? It doesn't always work that way. I mean, Hwoarang actually translates as 'flowering manhood' or something. Disturbing or what?

Speaking of Hwoarang, it was all _his_ fault that this happened! After all, hejust had to go and to walk up to the damn mutt and_ tell_ it what a disgusting, ugly creature it was.

How was I supposed to know that the chain was not tied down to anything?

Knowing you, mutt-lover that you are, you would have said it only wanted to 'play'.

Oh, it wanted to do something alright. To take a nibble.

Needless to say, we almost breathed a sigh of relief when the dog's owner arrived. _Almost,_ because the owner turned out to be that psycho, Bryan Fury. I'm not lying, honest.

Technically, it was us against this rabid _thing _straight out of Resident Evil and this killer (no pun intended) shot-gun toting maniac. Being the grown men we were, it was best to put on a brave front and stand our ground.

Or run away, screaming like cowards. Which we did.

You're really getting a kick out of this, aren't you?

And that's how we ended up in the arcade. Took one hell of a long time to shake those two off. And what better way than to blow off some steam than a nice round of hackneyed, obsolete yet oddly addicting old-school arcade games?

Of course, this was Hwoarang I was playing against. I swear, this bloke can turn a game of 'Go Fish' into a national competition. And when he loses, it's enough reason for him to declare World War 3. Which usually happens when he's up against me. I'm not one of those nerds who spends his whole life in front of a computer screen playing 'Warcraft' (which is quite cool) or 'Matrix Revolutions' (which isn't) but, even you have to admit, a Playstation controller is a deadly weapon in my hands. (Remember those happy times when I would drive you to tears with SC3? Ah, bliss.)

Anyway, Hwoarang's a sore loser. What was he thinking? I thought everyone knew that Terry Bogard absolutely _owns_ Kyo Kusanagi in KOF? Yeesh.

So, what happens next?

The bloody wanker bloody shoves me! Before the next round so that he can get a head-start. Cheap! And what do I do? Shove the idiot back, naturally! See, the thing about guy friends is that we like to physically take out her frustrations on each other when we're pissed off. Just like you girls have your little 'talks', we guys have our own way of solving our problems. Crazy, but true.

I must have shoved Hwoarang too hard because before I know it, he's sliding across the floor like a break-dancer until he stops next to Julia (don't ask me what she of all people was doing in an arcade). Now picture this.

Hwoarang, lying on the floor.

Julia, wearing denim mini-skirt.

Hwoarang lying on the floor _under_ Julia's denim mini-skirt.

Need any pointers for what's going through her mind at this moment?

And to make matters even worse (and more hilarious), the floor's been freshly waxed. So, when Hwoarang stands up, he promptly loses his balance and …

Yeah, that's right. Gets a faceful of nice, soft, uh, you-know-what. To tell you the truth, I don't think he minded much. And Julia? Well, …

"PERVERT!"

I'm telling you, it was like a scene from a cartoon. Especially when Julia raised her fist and gave Hwoarang this _awesome_ knuckle-sandwich that literally sent him zooming across the room. I could have sworn I saw a nose-bleed.

Unfortunately, guess who happened to be in Hwoarang's way at that very moment? Yup, Lili (don't know what _she_ was doing in an arcade either).

Since that tiny Monacan couldn't have weighed much more than one of those little dolls that she looked like, it was obvious that she had to go down like bowling pin.

Except that she chose to fall on yours truly, her arms wrapping tightly around my neck whilst her screaming deafened me. Chaos, complete and utter chaos.

And that was when you showed up.

Do you realize how goddamn scary you are when you're in a jealous fit?

Come off it now, you _were_ jealous. Why else would you have thrown a bloody chair at me? It was a good thing that Hwoarang made a great human shield (he's still sulking about that).

I solemnly swear that everything described above took place to the best of my knowledge. And one more thing.

_I have no romantic interest whatsoever in Lili._

She can't pack a punch like you can, that's for sure. Definitely can't stumble about in high heels or burn a whole meal like you can. Don't scowl, it doesn't suit you.

Because no one looks better when she's in a good mood than you do. If I must say, you're the only girl who laughs at me when I trip up and then tries to help. Then you'd go and beat up any other fool who dared to laugh. And you _can _be quite amusing when you're not throwing chairs at poor blokes like me. And so who cares if you're under-age? Hmm, never mind that.

In short, at the risk of sounding like a sentimental old drunk, there's no one like you. So it's alright.

My humble apologies once again (and hopefully not for the last time).

Yours sincerely,

Steve

P.S. You can tear up the letter now if you'd like.


	7. Melody

Here's an interesting story behind the story (if I may use that term). This one was supposed to be a separate off-shoot of my first fic 'Twice as Much'. Somehow, it didn't quite materialize due to other projects that sprung up. So I thought that now would be a good time to get it out of my system (so to speak). By the way, isn't the harmonica such a deliciously angsty instrument (?) to listen to? Inspiring, really.

**7. Melody**

In fairy-tales, the brave knight is supposed to rescue the beautiful princess from her tower and then ride off into the sunset. Happily ever after. The end.

It surprised him that people actually believed that. Happy endings and the like.

Because he wasn't as brave or gallant beneath his own armor. And his princess hadn't needed his help in particular. She already had a mission to save the one brave soldier she loved. Introspective and sensitive as she was, she could have never really fully comprehended the depth to which he'd fallen for her. Her heart had never been his to covet so it was probably best to just forget.

Forgetting and remembering are two things he'd never been good at.

He'd never forget the way her name escaped from his lips. Julia. Just like that. And the way that a simple crush had grown into a painful one-sided affair.

He couldn't remember another time when he had ever felt like that. The pleasure of loving someone interspersed with the pain of unrequited emotions.

When the warmth of spring and summer escaped, the blue waters of his eyes had turned into cold, hard ice. For the first time in his life, he felt a connection between himself and his distant mother. He'd begun to understand what it felt like to be her as he withdrew into a smooth stone shell of his own.

* * *

Even though she had little experience in these things, she could feel emotion when she heard it.

The harmonica is a melancholy instrument. The melodies produced by it are the colors which paint the images in her mind. Jet-black skies, haunting white mists, translucent tears striking dull brown wood. It speaks of mournful secrets, tragic confessions, and lost love. It was like nicotine, slowly but surely capturing her in its uncomfortable, addictive embrace.

It is uncomfortable because he brings up emotions in her she'd tried to forget. Addictive in the sense that she wanted to submerge herself deeper into the water. Where it was warmer than ice.

It's cold, so cold.

The misery tears at her heart.

But she'd never been one to back down.

* * *

He'd seen her before. Many times.

Seeing is different from looking. He'd been too blinded by the light of another to look at her.

Wasn't it ironic that you could see stars shining only at night?

* * *

Music is like alcohol. It gives you a high, makes you forget as well as recall your troubles, numbs your pain.

She'd never been good with words. She'd always fly away in fright at the mention of heart-ache.

For once, she'd tread the water.

* * *

It was a simple piece of wood in his hands. But in the end, it was what his hands could do with it that mattered.

Hands were made to work. The mind was made to think. The heart was made to feel.

It seemed so simple when he looked at it that way.

She'd asked him if he was afraid.

* * *

Hearts are like glasses. They break easily.

You either have to fix it up again.

Or brush away the pieces under the rug.

He'd forced her to look around for those missing pieces. Without even knowing it.

* * *

She was growing on him. In a way that he wasn't sure he liked.

Was it because he had come to love his misery? Or maybe …

Yes, he was afraid.

* * *

His heart was in pieces. She was sure of that now.

Who'd broken it? A friend? A lover?

In any case, she swore she'd take better care of it than they had.

* * *

How do you define 'first love'?

Was it the woman standing in front of him at this moment?

That voice again,…

"I'm sorry, Steve."

* * *

She hated Julia for being so pure. Untainted by the petty desires of this world.

Her. The one who held his heart in her hand.

Yet here she was, giving it up to her.

"Good luck, Asuka."

* * *

He hated the rain. He couldn't see the stars when it rained.

She hated the rain. She couldn't fly through the tears of the sky.

The memory of a melody lingers and they both cry.

* * *

He'd made up his mind.

He would forget the woman he had loved. He'd set her free to be with the one she loved.

Because no one deserves to be locked up in one's heart.

Especially the girl he needed.

* * *

She set her mind to it.

He could be free now.

They would be alright.

As long as he needed her.

* * *

The music drifts through the morning light. The gray sky has abandoned its sorrowful tones for the renewed hope of pale reds, yellows, and oranges.

He's hopeful and every note tells the same story. The river of courage is trickling into his weary soul and he feels alive once more.

She takes it in, a spoonful at a time. It tastes sweet. Delicious as vanilla ice-cream in November.

Letting go should have never felt this good. But it did.

It was because of her that he'd made it to the surface. He could breathe again.

Was it not the knight who was supposed to rescue the princess in fairy-tales? Not the other way around?

Like she'd promised herself, she'd always protect his heart.

As for him, it was nice to be taken care of for a change.

He'd definitely been rescued by the right princess.

An eternally grateful melody began.


	8. Star

And here it is sniff, sniff. The very last one sniff. WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

Okay, I'm cool now.

**8. Star**

_I'm tugging at my hair_

_I'm pulling at my clothes_

_I'm trying to keep my cool_

_**But I know it shows**_

_I'm staring at my feet_

_My cheeks are turning red_

_I'm searching for the words inside my head_

'_Cause I'm feeling nervous_

_**Trying to be so perfect**_

'_**Cause I know you're worth it**_

_**You're worth it, yeah**_

Things I'll Never Say (Avril Lavigne)

* * *

It was official in her mind.

Tonight was the night that she'd show them. She'd show them what she could achieve when she tried.

Yeah, blow them away. That's what she'd do.

Knock his socks off. Heh, she'd _love _to see that.

Maybe all this fuss would be worth the expression on his face in the end.

She couldn't but smile as the steaming water streamed down her body.

* * *

Why was it that when you had a row with someone you couldn't stop thinking about it? He'd kept himself preoccupied with his drink and the light-hearted conversations of those around him. Yet, the remnants still remained. It was like the ringing in your ears after attending a sweaty rock concert. Annoying but still _there._ What could you call that? Psychological tinnitus?

Steve rubbed his temples before scanning the dimly-lit room. He had been wrong. The New Year party decorations weren't as tacky as he'd expected. Not exactly the epitome of high-class taste but not the tinsel-strewn mess that usually passed the standards. Bloody wonderful. Now he had nothing to complain about. Complaining always took his mind off things. Either that or a few rounds on a red leather punching-bag. Then again, no one else seemed moody enough to let him have the satisfaction of doing either.

He could have gone up to Christie. After all, she was a friend of Asuka's. But he'd probably end up sitting through a lecture on the importance of a woman's feelings and all that emotional whatnot. All in all, not the best option. He could have sought out Hwoarang but the red-head was much more clueless than him in such situations. Anyway, he'd already spotted his friend in a corner, deep in talk with a certain Native woman. And from the apparently serious nature of it, Steve guessed that his presence wouldn't come as welcome.

It was not even eleven and Paul Phoenix was already completely plastered at the bar. No point in carrying out a serious conversation with a drunk biker…

So that greatly limited his options.

Ah, but what if?

Nah, no way.

But maybe?

Well, that ringing in his ears _was_ starting to affect his ability to think straight…

He'd do it.

Steve could tell that the Japanese man was bored to death. Knowing him, he'd been forcibly dragged here by a well-meaning, foolish acquaintance. And nobody could wear a bored expression like Jin Kazama could. His dark bangs hid his eyes as he played around with his cocktail stirrer.

"Hey, Jin."

The smallest of nods told Steve that his presence was at least acknowledged.

"I, uh, kinda wanted to talk to you about something."

"…"

"About Asuka."

"…"

_Haha, is he really a barrel of monkeys or what?_

This would be more difficult than he thought.

"Something… really bad's happened between us and…"

"…"

"I'm just asking for some advice, okay?" Steve realized the extent of his desperation as he said that.

The answering rhetorical question hit him like a slap.

"She's pregnant and it's not yours? That's disgusting."

"What?! No!"

"She's pregnant and it _is_ yours? That's even worse."

"Shit, no!"

"So you're not getting any action at all? How sad…"

"Ye- I mean, no! None of those!"

Bang, bang, bang. Just like that. He could never have predicted, not in a trillion years, that he'd ever hear _that._ Especially coming from Jin. The Japanese merely shrugged as he went back to his 'stirrer-fiddling'.

"Since all worst-case scenarios have been eliminated, I suppose it's safe for me to assume that this isn't much of a 'problem'?"

Steve could only gape in response. Jin sighed in annoyance.

"Well, you'll have to sort it out yourself. Now."

"B-but… she's not here."

At that moment, he felt the tell-tale vibration from his mobile in his front trouser pocket. He pulled it out and flicked it open to reveal the SMS.

_HELL HAS FROZEN OVER! PIGS R FLYING! CATS R BARKING! DEAD MEN R FUCKIN' WALKING! DON'T BELIEVE ME? TURN UR ASS AROUND ASAP!!_

Astounded, Steve scrolled down for the sender.

"Hwoarang? What the hell – "

Jin raised the hand holding the stirrer and used a circular motion to tell the blond to turn around. Which was what he did obligingly.

_Oh. My. God._

_Asuka Kazama's wearing a dress. With heels. And make-up._

He could have passed out from the shock. And by the looks of things, so could have everyone else. Hwoarang was rubbing his eyes in disbelief. Julia and Christie had succumbed to an avalanche of delighted giggles. More than a few eye-brows were being raised. Even Paul seemed to have snapped out of his drunken stupor to stare at this incredibly rare sight.

The strapless, sparkly midnight-blue mini-dress with the flared skirt fit her perfectly. The blue heels matched and the make-up was subtle. And that sly smile on her painted-pink lips…

"Hello, Steve."

His head was spinning and it wasn't because of her perfume. Her normally untameable brown hair had been smoothened and straightened out. Her eyes somehow seemed brighter…

"Like my outfit?"

Oh, he _liked_ her outfit alright. Now if only he could remember how to speak English again…

"You'd better close your mouth before something flies in."

Trust Asuka to ruin the moment. Well at least he knew it was the same girl. Steve made a shaky attempt at regaining his composure.

"So, what's the occasion?"

"Come on," she replied, ignoring the question. "Let's dance."

* * *

Nothing like a slow dance to soothe your frazzled nerves. Or set them on fire.

And both of theirs kept on hovering between the two. Heartbeats alternating between 'slow and rhythmic' or 'fast and furious'.

She wished he'd be his normal self. Teasing her, mocking her cooking, patting her head just to annoy her…

"You never said anything about my outfit."

"I take it my jaw hitting the floor wasn't enough of a hint?"

"Yours and every other guy's." Ahh, did looking pretty always feel this rewarding?

"Unfortunately, yes." Steve sent a death glare to the old pervert staring up his young partner's legs. Satisfied with the effect, he turned down to take check her out himself.

Oh yes, looking pretty made Asuka feel _great._

"How'd you put this together anyway?" he had to ask.

"With a little help from my fairy god-mother." she laughed.

"Really? Did she come with the customary wand and wings?"

"Not exactly." she replied with a sideways glance. "More like a red dress and spiked heels."

Steve followed her glance and smiled at the sight. "Good ol' Aunt Anna."

"Mm-hm. Oof!" she muttered as she stumbled slightly into him. "Man, these heels should come with a warning.."

"Yup, same ol' Asuka." Steve grinned affectionately. His hand was midway to ruffling her hair before he realized that he'd only ruin his aunt's work.

* * *

The stars shone bright tonight. Unlike the fire-works, they'd also lingered for a little while longer.

"Hey, Steve! Do you know how to read those constellations?"

"…No."

"Neither do I."

Her heels lay forgotten on the grassy lawn and her hair had returned to its original form. He liked her even better in this state. Wild and free.

He looked better with his hair shaken loose from its gel-infused hold. Almost like a different person. But then he'd laugh and run his hand through it so then she knew he was still the same.

There were many things they liked about each other. Oddly enough, they were the very same things they disliked in anyone else. Her outrageous spunk, his annoying witticisms. His flawed bravado, her blunt observations. Like fire and water they were yet instead of estinguishing the other's passion, they ignited it.

Not that they'd ever say it out loud.

"Um, Asuka? About that fight we had…"

"Uh,… I forgot what it was about."

"You know what? Me too."

Her laughter rang like bells in the air. "Well, in any case, I don't hate you Steve."

He smiled softly back at her. "I don't hate you either, Asuka."

The only clue to the sentence's deeper meaning lay in the blush staining her cheeks.

Love is a never-ending story. There is joy. There is pain. Some parts make you laugh, others reduce you to tears. But the journey never stops.

And like the constellations, it's written in the stars.

* * *

**Did you expect me to end it with 'Like the…"? Sorry if I disappointed you.**

**And that's it. The End. Now I feel sad ********.**

**Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the whole of the trilogy (including non-members who couldn't review)! Your kind as well as hilarious opinions really made my days (and nights). And so the question remains,**

_**What do I do next?**_

**Hehe, head over to my profile if you're interested. Once again, thanks guys! Never could have made it without ya!**

**Ciao,**

**Ran**


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